


On Domination In Night Vale

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Blindfolds, Dirty Talk, Disobeying Orders, Dom/sub, Hair-pulling, Kink, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Safeword Use, Safewords, Spanking, dom!Cecil, sub!Carlos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos wants to make his boyfriend happy and indulge him in the relationships he hears are commonplace in Night Vale, but Cecil isn’t into exactly what he expected. First part of a longer thing. Mature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It, apparently, is a completely normal thing in Night Vale. It is not treated with contempt, or bafflement, or anger; it is just another relationship people participate in. It’s foreign to him, strange - but then, Carlos is a  _scientist._

For that reason, he researches.

BDSM. Domination. Submission. Masochism. Sadism. Bondage. Sexual torture. Orgasm denial. Spanking. Blindfolds. Shibari. Kinbaku. Good sub. Good boy. Good pet.

Carlos watches more pornography in one week than he had in the years between his being thirteen and eighteen. And that- well,  _that_  was a long time ago. He is not exactly the twink he had been back then.

He stops making notes on his keyboard for a few moments, left hand resting, fingers rested on the number keys and the ERT - and he is so glad that Night Vale uses QWERTY keyboards, or life would be so much harder - and his right hand moves up, fingering over the touch of silver that has started by his temple.

Silver!

Gray. It’s gray. He wonders why Cecil considers it so dignified - Cecil is a young man, barely twenty five, and Carlos is fifteen years older. Fifteen  _years._ Cecil does not seem unsatisfied, not yet, but surely it will come.

And he has heard Cecil talking about it on the shows that are late at night, talking about ex-boyfriends, Earl Harlan, how he quivers to talk about Marcus Vansten and Hiram McDaniels, how he had talked about the position of Marcus’ personal assistant, Jake, in such a yearning tone the night before.

"Ah, the role of a  _personal assistant!_  To be devoted to a boss who is devoted to you also, to give up all control to such a powerful person! To kneel when told, to share the details of  _soul!_ So much more than a job, listeners - to be a personal assistant is a vocational way to find the deepest of relationships!”

Personal assistants, it would seem, are very different in Night Vale than to anywhere else - but, truly, Jake has the lowest rating on Carlos’ danger meter in the entirety of Night Vale. It’s even lower than Hiram McDaniels’, and Hiram McDaniels is a huge, five-headed dragon. Carlos continues to play over that hint of gray hair, looking at the frozen image of the young man on the screen, a ball gag stretching his lips, his eyes closed, tears stained on his face. He drums his fingers on the grey keys.

He is certainly interested in the idea of it - to give up control and to trust, to enjoy pain, to do all of those things. Of course, he’s a good deal older, and Cecil is plainly so interested in  _submitting._  

Carlos hums, considering it. To make Cecil happy? Such a fantastic idea.

It is later that evening when Cecil is chattering that he pushes the younger man against the wall, dragging his teeth over Cecil’s neck in a way that draws a choked, drawn-out noise from his throat. He shudders under Carlos’ mouth and his hands as the latter grasp at his hips, and when Carlos draws back Cecil’s tanned cheeks have flushed pink. 

He grins widely, all white, even teeth, and dips to do so again, but Cecil’s hands catch his shoulders; Carlos freezes.

"What are you doing?" Cecil asks, and he blinks down at Carlos with his eyes (those  _eyes_ ), and he seems _curious_. Not angry, not confused, just curious. Carlos does not know whether to be relieved or not.

"I was- it’s- you just- you know, you talk, about wanting to be dominated, and scientifically speaking I could-"

Cecil is laughing. He is not laughing raucously; it’s a slow chuckle, amused. Carlos feels heat rise in his own cheeks - he must have done something wrong, must not have been dominant enough, must have-

"Sweet, sweet Carlos. You are just so  _cute._ " Cecil says, and he sounds delighted, endeared, as one hand comes up, fingers creeping over Carlos’ neck before they slowly tangle themselves in Carlos’ hair. The scientist lets out a slow breath, leaning back into that warm hand as Cecil carefully strokes over his scalp, playing through the thick, dark locks. "But I’m not that kind of _man_ , Carlos."

"A-Aren’t you?" Carlos asks, perhaps a little more breathlessly than he had intended, because Cecil’s hand feels so good in his hair, on his skin, at the very nape of his neck. For a man whose talent lies in the use of his voice, Cecil Palmer has  _very_  capable hands.

"Oh, no." Cecil murmurs, and then his hands tighten, pulling just  _slightly_ , just enough to bring the tiniest hint of pain to Carlos’ scalp. He has very sensitive follicles, which is why Cecil is always so ready to stroke his hair, but Cecil has never touched Carlos’ hair like this before, and it’s  _good._

Carlos lets out a choked little moan, his eyes closing tightly to better focus on the sensation, and he hears Cecil exhale softly, as if he’s looking at something holy. But then Cecil  _releases_  his grip, and Carlos slumps against him, presses his face against Cecil’s chest and stays there.

"We should, uh, talk about this, Carlos." Cecil mumbles, but he mumbles it against Carlos’ hair, so it feels nice, and he hears just fine. Carlos feels an irrational desire to go and hide in a lab, but they’ve discussed discussing things more before. Carlos is bad at discussions, but for Cecil's sake, he has to make the effort.

So he nods, and they talk once they’re in bed. They're naked together, lying side by side. It is casual, comfortable, because they do this so often, and yet Carlos is still nervous of upsetting the radio host that has charmed him with such ease.

"I would like to play with you." Cecil murmurs, and the backs of his knuckles play over Carlos’ neck. 

"But I’m the older one." Carlos says, and though it sounds ridiculous, there is no other way for him to say it. "Come on, Cecil, scientifically speaking generally one would expect for the dominant partner to be-"

"Age is just a number. A number in the way of me taking you so carefully apart, Carlos, so gently, and letting you hang in the air for hours and hours before I work you down." Carlos’ breath catches in his throat. God, that actually sounds- very  _good._  Cecil is watching him, thoughtful, lips pressed together. 

"I w-would- I don’t want you to hit me. Or be too rough." Carlos blurts out, and Cecil blinks, slowly.

"I don’t want to hit you either. And I’m not good at being too rough." He says simply, as if those things were obvious. "I promise, Carlos. I just want to take care of you. You need a word. And if you dislike a  _single_  thing I do, just say it, and it’s over.” Cecil is as firm and vehement as he is when discussing a cause on the radio. Carlos is entranced by it.

"Bumblebee?"

"Those are banned by the city council, Carlos, you kn-"

"Oh, no, no, of course I know _that_ , I mean- as a word."

"Oh." Cecil smiles at him, and then he leans, catching the other in a quick kiss before he pulls back and says, "Yes. That’s good."

"Could you just- if you just try some things, and let me just-"

"Submit?" Cecil offers the word and it sounds six sorts of perfect for reasons Carlos could not hope to comprehend, explain, or even write down in his log book. Cecil lets it hang in the air and Carlos enjoys the significance of it for a few moments, letting the word ring so pleasantly in his ears before he continues.

"Yes! I mean, scientifically speaking, experimentation is-"

"Carlos, please try and stay on topic." Cecil murmurs, and his hand is finding its way into Carlos’ hair again; Carlos breathes in, hopeful. "Else I’ll have to  _punish_  you.”

"I think I’d like that." Cecil laughs, tightens his hand, listens to the soft moan from Carlos’ lips.

"I’d like that too."


	2. The Main Event

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos is a little nervous, but he most definitely sees the value in acting subject for an experiment or two.

"Up you get, sweet Carlos." Cecil murmurs quietly, and Carlos does, carefully making his way out of bed; Cecil guides him by his hips, into the living room, and lets him stand for a moment.

He turns away and comes back, holding a piece of thick cloth in his hands, black. Carlos knows what that cloth is for. His stomach feels knotted with apprehension and an excitement he could not hope to deny, and he bows his head slightly to make it easier for the other man to tie the blindfold over his eyes.

He walks away, and Carlos is left frozen, listening for the pads of Cecil’ s feet on the ground. Both of them had already been naked but outside the warmth of the bedroom Carlos feels the cool on his skin.

”You’ll warm up.” Cecil promises, demonstrating not for the first time his uncanny ability to know what Carlos is thinking. Carlos wonders if, some time ago, that way of Cecil’s might have upset him. Of course, it doesn’t now, and that is what matters. In fact, it’s almost a comfort. “Please, sit.” Carlos does, trusting, and as he sits back he touches a chair; one of the chairs from the kitchen.

The wood is nice, comfortable, and it doesn’t stick to his skin. That’s good. No distractions. Cecil ties his wrists behind the chair with a piece of rope - simple rope, nothing that bites his skin - and Carlos takes in a little gasp, because what if it was someone else? Shit, what if someone else came in here? He’d never know, he wouldn’t-

"Only me." Cecil murmurs, very quietly, and despite the soft tone the words seem to ring right through Carlos. The scientist relaxes, pushing the idea of some silent intruder out of his mind. He is so used to that magical quality of Cecil’s voice, that he can so easily influence both other people and Carlos himself, and it’s nice to turn off once in a while, forget his danger meter completely and think of Cecil instead.

Besides, that voice of his probably lends itself well to activities like this, now he thinks of it.

"Do you like pain, Carlos?" Cecil asks the question as his hands touch to Carlos’ shoulders; he is behind the scientist, yes, and this is confirmed even more so when Cecil leans and drags his lips over the back of Carlos’ neck. Carlos shivers, because it feels good, and also because he had not been expecting it - the sensation feels amplified, perhaps due to his being tense, perhaps due to the blindfold removing his sight.

For either of those to be confirmed, more experimentation would be necessary.

"A l-little. Maybe." Carlos answers, because he’s not actually completely certain. In the past, he hadn’t really experimented with things like this - a bite or a scratch from a boyfriend here and there, or a playful smack on the ass in the shower. None of those things seemed applicable to being blindfolded to a chair in front of your possibly-probably-not-human boyfriend when it came to what was classified as pain.

"Alright, Carlos." Cecil purrs, and those lips touch to his neck again, hot, dry, pleasant skin, and Cecil’s mouth draws a little lower, over his shoulder, to the bottom of his neck, and then-

"Ah-" Carlos whimpers, because the bite had hurt, and yet between his legs a pleasurable jolt had run through him. He feels the wet of Cecil’s mouth lingering on his skin, and he can’t help but wonder if Cecil had left a mark - that’s low on his neck, easy to hide with the right shirt, but what if he didn’t? What if, tomorrow night, he showed up and met the other scientists with a little bite mark on his neck, so that they’d know that Cecil had bit him? That Carlos and his boyfriend had had sex, and that Cecil had played dominant?

Carlos realizes that he’s half-hard when Cecil wraps a clever, wonderful hand around his cock and makes him gasp again.

"Is this  _nice_ , Carlos?” Cecil asks, voice low and reverberant and so, so good against his ear. Cecil’s hand is most certainly nice, even by the scientific definition, warm and moving slowly, jacking Carlos with a slight twist of his hand as he nears the head and drawing a breathy mewl from the scientist’s mouth each time.

Carlos has not made a noise like that in years.

"Mmm-hmm." Carlos hums his answer, positive that if he tries to speak he will fall back on the familiar, easily stumbled babble of science. And he does not want Cecil to mistake his nerves for avoiding the subject.

"Pretty." Cecil murmurs against the flesh of Carlos’ neck, dragging his teeth over the skin. "So pretty." Carlos would not describe himself as pretty. He’s forty, and although he’s a muscular man devoted to exercising regularly, he is not as fit as he once was. He’s broad, and he has stubble on his cheeks, and his hair is starting to grey. "Gorgeous." Cecil says, insistently, and Carlos feels a little heat rise in his face.

"Yes, sir." Cecil lets out an " _Ooh_!” of noise, sounding utterly delighted by Carlos’ words, and Carlos’ lips twitch. He can’t help but pleased with having drawn such a reaction from the other man by doing something as simple as adding a “Sir” to the end of a sentence.

Cecil moves, and Carlos listens to the pad of his feet on the floor, so quiet, almost silent. He mourns for the hand no longer stroking him; he’s hard now, cock resting against his stomach, and he shifts in the chair, as if he has any hope to grind himself against something that isn’t the space around him. His hands are (quite literally) tied, after all - what can he do?

Cecil returns, and Carlos hums when the other man kisses him; it is odd, to kiss the other man whilst blindfolded. They close their eyes to kiss (except for that one odd, odd time), but closing your eyes isn’t exactly the same as having them shielded for you.

Something wet and warm touches to Carlos’ cockhead, warm and wet but also tight - it’s not Cecil. Carlos knows what Cecil feels like too well to mistake that for Cecil’s entrance (that’s probably an odd thing to think, but it’s true; Carlos is very familiar indeed with his boyfriend’s asshole, and it’s hardly the weirdest thing in Night Vale that he’s familiar with), and besides, he would feel the other’s knees at his hips, or feel the touch of their thighs together.

Carlos lets out an undignified noise as Cecil pushes the toy slowly downwards, engulfing Carlos’ cock in sweet, well-lubricated heat.

"Oh." Carlos whimpers, because what else are you supposed to whimper when your cock has just been buried in a toy by your possibly-probably-not-human lover? He hears a quiet click, and then cries out, louder, as the toy begins to vibrate. God, God, that feels good.

The vibrations run right through him, and the toy is fairly powerful; Cecil moves it but not much, only just a little up, just a little down, again and again. Carlos’ breathing speeds, because it’s just a little too much, all at once, and then there is another click, and the vibrations seem to double in power. “Ah!”

"That’s it, Carlos. Ah." Cecil purrs, and it sounds like praise, and it is praise, and Carlos does not know why he feels so damn proud but he does, proud that Cecil is pleased with him. The sensation flushes through him like a tangible warmth, mingles with the feeling of orgasm slowly coiling in his belly. "So lovely. My darling Carlos. Just look at you, set down for me, ready to be played with." Cecil’s other hand splays over Carlos’ chest and strokes slowly down; it feels nice, but not as glorious as the toy he’s inside. "Do you like it?"

"N-not as much as I like being in you. Sir." Carlos whispers, and yes, he’s getting into this, he likes this, God! This feels good. Cecil being in control, Cecil in control of him, being Cecil’s to be played with and fucked or- oh, what if Cecil didn’t let him come, for hours and hours? Carlos almost lets out a cry at the thought. He’d never considered that idea so erotically before.

"Oh, such a demanding thing you are." Cecil murmurs, and he sounds just the tiniest hint of disapproving. Something adjusts the glow in Carlos’ chest; worry, apprehension, but… Excitement. Definite excitement. He opens his mouth to make a reply, but then he feels a finger and thumb on his right nipple; he cries out, loudly, when the other man twists.

"Oh, God, that  _hurts_ -” Carlos gasps out, and Cecil chuckles. The sound is enough to make Carlos shudder, so intoxicating is the sound, the implication. Cecil has power over him. Cecil can do whatever he wants to him. What could be better?

"Oh, poor Carlos. So cruel of me, to hurt you so. I’m going to do it again." And he does, he does, on the other nipple this time. Carlos wriggles in his seat, thrusts himself up into the toy that Cecil has been holding still, and lets out a sound that is more of a whine than it is anything else. He hears a noise, a plastic noise he can’t describe, and then there is another touch to his right nipple.

He readies himself for the warmth of fingers, but the warmth does not come. There is a sharp pinch, a plastic clip in place, and then Cecil puts another on the other side. Carlos lets out a grunt, because that actually feels kind of good, not nice, or pleasant, but good in a more -  _visceral_  way.

The toy is drawn away, and Carlos lets out a noise of complaint, but then Cecil’s hands are on his neck and Cecil’s thighs are either side of Carlos’ own, and Carlos lets out a low groan as Cecil lowers himself onto Carlos’ cock. Shit. Shit, that’s better than any vibrating toy.

"Carlos!" Cecil lets out a soft moan, dragging his lips over the other man’s jaw. "You are not going to come." He murmurs, beginning to thrust himself down, raising himself just a little before dropping again. He clenches, rhythmically, becomes even tighter around Carlos whenever he pulls back, and Carlos wonders where he learned such self control. "Until I’m done using you. Because you are-  _ah_ \- my toy.”

"Yes, sir. I’m your toy." Carlos whispers, and it feels- liberating, in a way. Strange, that it feels liberating to be sat on and used, but- God, why does it feels so good? Cecil moans in his ear, and Carlos feels a tightening in his balls and lets out a whine.

"Don’t come." Cecil says, but then he tightens again, drawing himself back before slamming himself down; Carlos makes a strangled, whimpered little noise, and disobeys. "Oh, Carlos." Cecil says, sound almost scandalized, and Carlos is embarrassed, and ashamed, and he wants to please, and he’s never felt so damn aroused in his entire life. "Naughty." Cecil whispers.

Cecil takes his own orgasm, come spattering wet on Carlos’ stomach, and Carlos is barely hard inside him anymore,spent.

"I’m sorry." Carlos says, and he says it honestly, because it’s true, and he means it. Cecil pulls away, pushing the blindfold away from Carlos’ face, and looks at him. He looks stern, lips pressed together, and Carlos takes in a little breath.

"Sorry doesn’t make it up, Carlos." Cecil murmurs, playing over the other man’s jaw. "What should I do about you, hmm?"

"P-punish me, sir?" Carlos offers, and he’s new to this, but he is glad he made the decision to let Cecil lead him through. It’s less scary that way, and there’s less- intimate discussion.

"Punish you, mmm. How should I do that, Carlos?"

"S- You could, uh, speaking from the point of few of a scientist statistical-"

"Carlos."

"Spank me. You could, um, spank me." Carlos blurts out, and Cecil raises an eyebrow. Then, he chuckles a little, leaning and catching Carlos’ lips under his own.

"I could do that, yes. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Carlos asks, and he is surprised by how disappointed his own voice sounds.

"Carlos, we should sleep. Don’t you have science to do in the morning?" Carlos lets out an unintelligible, vague grumble, and Cecil snorts.

"Come on, let me untie you."


	3. Reasonable Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safewording herein.

Carlos, throughout the next day, fidgets more than he ever has in his life. It is the anticipation that leaves him so very excited, so anxious, so utterly unable to keep still for more than six seconds or so, and even when his danger-metre is very high as the sun goes down with a loud, drawn-out scream (he’d been doing experiments in Old Town Night Vale), he cannot even bring himself to freeze, when all advice dictates that he really should.

He’s never experienced such excitement in a relationship before, never! And he certainly trusts Cecil, trusts Cecil to make it exciting and to be exciting (even though Cecil is already very invigorating at the worst of times and one could scarcely think he could even  _be_  more exciting), but moreover the very different dynamic is almost intoxicating.

He wants to know where the limits and better ideas fall, which things get him off under the new relationship parameters, which things will get Cecil off, too - more importantly, in fact, as Carlos is very fond of drawing orgasms out of Cecil Palmer.

In short, Carlos wants to experiment.

He is a scientist, after all.

They order in that night: Chinese food from a place on the corner, and although Carlos had been wary at first of eating noodles that moved at first, after all his time in Night Vale it’s become easier for him to hold them relatively still between his chopsticks, and to eat them.

They actually taste pretty good.

Cecil eats quicker than Carlos, and once he’s finished his meal, dropping the containers into the recycling once he’s rinsed them, he slides onto the couch with the other man, wrapping himself around Carlos’ shoulders and putting his lips to Carlos’ ear. Carlos can’t help but go still - the first time he’s been still all day - because Cecil’s hands begin to stroke down his chest, over his shirt.

"You look so pretty today, Carlos." Cecil murmurs, and even though his tone is quiet the words seem to resonate, to echo, in the otherwise silent room. "I bet all those other scientists were just thinking about how pretty you are." Oh, God. "I bet all of them were just thinking how pretty you looked with your hair tied behind your back, and your lab coat on." He’s not wearing his lab coat now, and soon enough he won’t be wearing his shirt either, because Cecil’s clever fingers are slowly moving down his chest, unbuttoning each obstacle between him and Carlos’ skin.

"I imagine, my wonderful Carlos, that every single one of them thought about fucking you. Bending you over a table with beakers and metres and paperwork, and filling you all up with cocks and toys." Carlos lets out a choked little noise, the sound sharp, as Cecil bites hard at his neck without warning, and then draws back. "Oh,  _Carlos_. Did you think about them touching you?”

"N-no, Cecil." Carlos whispers, slowly setting his leftovers aside.

"Never."

“ _Never_?”

"Never." Carlos mumbles, and Cecil’s hands move lower, undoing the buttons on his trousers.

"Oh, Carlos. Aren’t you wearing underwear?" Cecil’s clucks his tongue. " _Naughty_.” And then he reaches in, wrapping his hand around Carlos’ cock and stroking, slowly, and Carlos can’t help the whimper that comes out of his mouth. “I can’t wait to spank you, Carlos, because I think you deserve it. I think you’re the filthiest little sub I’ve ever had, and I want to show you your place, show you where you belong.”

"A-at your feet?"

"Clever  _boy_.” Cecil purrs, and something about the praising tone affects Carlos with a sudden elation, makes his heart leap in his chest. “It makes me almost sad to have to punish you, Carlos.” Cecil murmurs, nipping at the other’s neck. “Take your clothes off for me.” Carlos stands shakily, but he obeys all the same, kicking his shoes off and throwing his shirt and trousers aside.

Cecil sits back in his seat, watching Carlos with an almost smug expression on his face. “Over my lap, Carlos. I’m going to make you cry.”

“ _Ah_.” Carlos whimpers out the sound, staring at Cecil with wide eyes - somehow, the thought is distinctly appealing. He moves over the other’s lap all the same, obedient, and he does feel terribly exposed like this, ass in the air, ready for Cecil to spank him. _To spank him._

It’s without warning, too; Cecil’s hand comes down suddenly with a sharp smack, and Carlos lets out a whine as he feels the sharp heat blossom across his backside, stinging  ** _ow._**  And then there’s another, almost in exactly the same place, and the sound rings through the room and they can probably hear it next door, and then another, and another, and another-

It goes on.

Carlos feels like he’s floating after a little while, and he feels the pain in a detached fashion - most of all he feels the beautiful, all-encompassing heat, and he lets out soft noises with each new blow. When Cecil stops, pulls Carlos up and lifts him (and Carlos isn’t light, so it’s obscene that Cecil can lift him so easily) from the couch, carrying him into the bedroom, Carlos regards his dominant dreamily.

"Feel good?"

"So good, sir." Carlos mumbles.

"Not much of a punishment then." Cecil says, and he drops Carlos on his back, leaning down. Carlos stares at him, and then Cecil drags his tongue - his long, forked, radio host’s tongue - over Carlos’ asshole. Carlos does not mean to scream at the sensation, but it’s a combination of burning pain and perfect pleasure, and it would have been very hard to hold the noise back.

Cecil does it again, hands grasping roughly at Carlos’ buttocks and grabbing at the skin, digging his nails in, and it hurts, it’s  _agony,_  but it feels so good, especially given that Cecil is thrusting his tongue forwards, inside Carlos, inside Carlos hot and wet and absolutely perfect, and it’s overwhelming, and he isn’t coming, he doesn’t think he can come, because he needs a hand on his  _cock._

Oh, no.

"C-Cecil-" Cecil keeps going, keeps going, perfect, perfect torture - this is Carlos’ punishment. This is Carlos being punished, Cecil rimming him until he screams and cries and begs to be allowed to come.

Carlos has never felt so aroused in his life.

He begins to move after a while, begins to let out quiet whines of complaint and discomfort because his balls are so tight and drawn right up and he needs to come, he needs to, he needs to, but he just can’t. Cecil grasps at his thighs and holds him fast and no, no, it’s too much, it’s too _much._

"C-Cecil, pl-please-" Carlos can’t even speak, too hot, too excited, too frustrated. Cecil looks up at him and drags his tongue over a particularly sensitive part; Carlos mewls. No, too much. Too much. He  _can’t._  “Bu-bumb-“

"Bumblebee?" Carlos nods, and immediately Cecil’s hand is on his cock, giving two quick strokes, and Carlos’ orgasm is like fireworks. He drops back onto the bed, gasping a little for breath, and Cecil grasps at a tissue, wiping up the new mess.

"Too much?" Carlos nods, and Cecil hums, wiping his own mouth before he pushes himself into bed alongside Carlos, wrapping one arm around him and stroking over his chest.

"Sor-"

"Don’t apologize." Cecil murmurs, playing over the hair under his fingers. "That’s what the safeword is for, my darling Carlos. Really."

Carlos gives a little nod, and then he presses close against Cecil; he feels vulnerable, oddly enough, vulnerable and strange, and weird-

Cecil presses a kiss to his head and strokes his back, leaning back and grasping at a glass of water from the side table (he must have planned this, put it there before Carlos had come home) and brings it to Carlos’ mouth, insisting he take a sip or two.

"Hydration is important, you know." Carlos laughs despite himself, despite feeling very sore, and drinks before dropping onto Cecil’s chest, pressing his face to the other’s skin. "Go to sleep, my lovely Carlos. I’ll put balm on your backside in the morning."

And that actually sounds nice, so Carlos does.


	4. Chapter 4

When Carlos wakes, it is to Cecil rubbing his back very gently, the sensation pleasant, soothing. He lets out a very soft sigh, melting under the simple touch. Cecil always knows how best to touch him, and slowly, carefully, Cecil moves to straddle Carlos' lower back, his hands kneading at the flesh of Carlos' shoulders.

It's _perfect._

Carlos lets out a soft, tiny sound, and Cecil leans, dragging a forked tongue over the back of Carlos' neck, hot, wet, _wonderful._

“ _Cecil_ -” Carlos whimpers, and Cecil lets out a quiet chuckle, low, dark, _threatening_ , almost. Carlos is half-hard, pressed against the bed as he is, he can't quite access himself. He reaches back with his hands, but Cecil catches them with ease, lifting them and pinning them under his own body, against Carlos' back.

“Oh, no, no, _no._ No coming for you today, Carlos.” Cecil whispers, and he leans again – Carlos stiffens, expecting the touch of that tongue once more, but instead he feels only the heat of Cecil's breath. “No, you're going to go and do your science, and you're going to think of me.” Cecil rolls his hips down, and Carlos can _feel_ his cock slide against Carlos' back, and Carlos lets out a choked little noise. “And you're not going to come until tomorrow. Do you think you can do that?”

The question comes in a soft tone, and it's Cecil asking permission – somehow Carlos had thought his word wouldn't be so important, in regards to submitting, but even though Cecil is giving the _orders_ , it's almost like Carlos is the one in control.

Almost.

“ _Yes._ ” Carlos whimpers, and then Cecil stands. For the sake of obedience he leaves his hands in place, wrists crossed over each other at the small of his back, and when Cecil sees this he lets out an approving coo of noise. He kneels beside Carlos on the bed, and one of his hands strokes over Carlos' backside; at that he cannot help but let out a cry that's more pain than pleasure – it does _ache_ , the abused flesh there, and Cecil's touch reminds him of it.

Cecil's bare hand is soon replaced by the cool balm, and although it's distinctly cold it leaves tingling over the skin, a sweet tingling that melds the hot and cold together. Oddly enough, it leaves his cock twitching all the more, and Carlos takes in a small gasp, subtly tilting his hips forward and pressing himself to the sheets beneath.

Cecil flips him over, his hands on the other's ankles to force his twist, and Carlos cannot help but stare, utterly enchanted as Cecil leans, and his forked tongue slides slowly from his mouth, wrapping around the head of Carlos' cock, pink flesh wet about brown skin.

“ _ **Cecil**_ -” Carlos wails. The radio host draws his tongue back, feining an innocent expression as he looks up at Carlos sweetly.

“Yes?” Carlos only manages a soft mewl in response.

That day is hard. Cecil seems to have picked the most _sensual_ of material for the radio today, and while Carlos works in his lab he hears Cecil biting into a peach, talking with delight about the wetness of its skin and the flesh beneath giving way under his teeth, and then Cecil starts talking about a boyfriend he'd had many years ago, who'd had tentacles that would slide _all over_ Carlos' body-

Cecil is _evil_ , and clever, and sneaky, and Carlos loves him _._ If the discussion of the Harry Potter franchise wasn't banned on pain of death in Night Vale, Carlos is certain Cecil would be a Slytherin.

When Carlos gets home he's _tense_ , wound tight as a spring, but immediately Cecil pounces on him, pulling off his clothes and leading him into the bathroom. Carlos lets out a soft sigh as he's lowered into the bath, his eyes closing, and Cecil grins, beginning to scrub at his flesh without being too rough.

He shampoos Carlos' hair, too, and he sounds so _happy_ about having Carlos' hair in his hands as he always does. “Rinse.” Cecil says softly, and Carlos does, lowering himself beneath the water. When he comes up Cecil leans, pressing his lips against Carlos', gently, sweetly.

And then, drawing back, he whispers tenderly against the other's lips, in as romantic a soft voice as he can possibly muster, “I'm going to make you cry tonight, Carlos.”

And by God, Carlos believes him.


	5. Chapter 5

Cecil is slow about towelling off his skin and getting him dry, moving then to pull him into the bedroom, and he pushes Carlos down on the bed, on his front. Carlos' skin still  _ glows _ with slight damp, and his hair will take a little while to dry with how thick it is, but that doesn't matter. Not right now.

“What's your safeword, Carlos?” Cecil asks, and his voice is low and sweet and coaxing: Carlos shivers in anticipation.

“Bumblebee.”

“Good boy.” Oh, and  _ why _ does that electrify him so? He's not a  _ boy. _ Of the two of them, Carlos is definitely not the “boy”, and yet being called that is so  _ exciting.  _ He watches out of the corner of his eye, head turned slightly, as Cecil towels himself off, and then he picks a bottle of oil off the dresser.

_ Yes. _

Carlos looks meekly to the mattress below, closing his eyes. He can't quite stop himself from going still as he waits, holding his breath for the inevitable touch to his backside. All  _ day _ he had waited for this, thought about Cecil's fingers pressing inside him, his tongue, his  _ cock. _ Carlos has never been so eager to get to bed with someone in his  _ life _ .

He remembers, of course, that he isn't to come until tomorrow, but even exquisite torture would be alright so long as it happened  _ soon. _ Carlos is half-hard between his legs, and the idea of  _ pleasure _ is simply intoxicating – who would have thought Cecil Gershwin Palmer could turn him into such a complete  _ hedonist _ ? 

He lets out a choked noise when Cecil moves onto the bed, waiting for the perfect touch to his-

Shoulders?

Carlos lets out a quiet grunt as Cecil's hands begin to work over Carlos' broad shoulders, his fingers and thumbs working hard on the little muscle there, and it feels  _ good. _ Cecil's fingers are wet and slick with oil, and though Carlos is surprised, he can't complain.

Cecil moves to straddle his lower back, and Carlos just  _ relaxes _ under the pressures on his back, the slow rub over his flesh with those beautiful, warm hands. He lets out choked, soft noises, and he all but  _ wriggles _ under Cecil's attentions as his hands begin to move lower and lower and  _ yes _ , Cecil's hands are  _ finally _ on his ass.

Cecil  _ massages _ the scientist's buttocks with his clever hands, and the flesh is still the  _ littlest _ bit sore from the other night, and Carlos is left short of breath when Cecil finally presses his index forwards and  _ in _ .

“Oh my  _ God _ .” Carlos groans frustratedly, because it's not  _ enough. _ He wants to be fucked, and he wants a hand on his cock, and Cecil is being  _ cruel. _ This isn't teasing, not really, not like Carlos wants to be teased.

“What's that, Carlos?” Cecil asks, and Carlos bites hard at his lap.

“Fuck me.” Carlos says, tone more than a little demanding. Immediately his words are followed by a sharp slap to his backside: a shocked  _ huff _ exits Carlos' mouth.

“Try that again, Carlos.” Cecil speaks softly, but there's a sharp edge there: commanding,  _ dark. _ There's a promise of something  _ obscenely _ filthy if he acts out again, but he finds he doesn't want to. The idea of  _ pleasing _ Cecil is- well, just that: more pleasing.

“Fuck me,  _ please,  _ sir.” Carlos says, and Cecil lets out a  _ giggle _ of sound: a second finger presses into him. It's warm, slick, but it doesn't move, doesn't touch Carlos where he wants it most.

“That's better.” Cecil murmurs, and then a third finger presses in; he begins to thrust the digits, and soon enough he's  _ fucking _ Carlos with his fingers, rocking them against his prostate, scissoring them and making him feel so  _ wonderfully _ full. Every spark of pleasure makes Carlos jolt, and he's soon breathless, gasping as he can between the thrusts of Cecil's hand.

And then Cecil draws his hand back.

“ _No_ -” Cecil wipes his hands and turns off the light.

“Night night, Carlos!”

“Cecil-”

“Time to go to sleep.”

“ _Cecil_ -” Carlos' voice is plaintive, and Cecil chuckles as he wraps himself around the other's body. They lie on their sides, Cecil pressed against Carlos' back, and Cecil rubs his cock against Carlos' lower back, and Carlos _wants_ it, so badly. “Cecil, don't, _please_ -”

“In the morning.” Cecil murmurs in a coaxing, warm voice. “In the morning, sweet Carlos.”

\---

The morning is a haze. Cecil fucks him in bed, fucks him over his desk, in the kitchen, up against the wall in the shower, and Carlos' _ass_ hurts, his cock hurts, everything hurts but everything is fucked out and _perfect_.

Cecil bundles Carlos into his car to go to work, and Carlos is exhausted, utterly exhausted.

It's not even 9am, and he's fairly certain he's orgasmed three times.

“Pick up some groceries?”

“Groceries. Yes.” Carlos murmurs, and he nods. Work is uneventful: science is science and scientists are scientists. It's fairly _routine_ by now. It's only when he's in the supermarket that something occurs of _note_.

“I don't understand. These aren't pomegranates.” He must be thirty or so, with a thick head of dark red hair and a suit that looks more expensive than Carlos' car.

“Yes, they are.” And Christ, _him_? He can't be more than eighteen, and yet he's hanging from the other man with his hands firmly around the other's hips: he's taller than his elder, yet he hangs on-

That's _Marcus Vansten.,_ Carlos realizes.

“You!” Carlos stares at Marcus Vansten, wide-eyed.

“Yes?”

“Are these pomegranates?” Marcus Vansten holds up a pomegranate, having plucked it from the slowly moving belt. Carlos nods, mutely. He's still really not certain how to _talk_ to people like this: Marcus Vansten is a man of note, but he's also the richest man in Night Vale, which is apparently significant. “But they're so _small._ ”

“They're home-grown, here in Night Vale, _sssssir._ ” Jake's tongue isn't forked like Cecil's or Marcus' or a lot of Night Vale residents, Carlos notices as he makes the hissed sound. But it _is_ blue. “Trust me. It makes them all the sweeter.” There's something like innuendo in those words.

“Hmm.” Marcus hums, disapprovingly, but he shrugs and replaces the pomegranate all the same. “You. You're Carlos the Scientist.” He says, addressing Carlos again.

“Ye-yes. Scientifically speaking, that is who I am.”

“Oh, a _scientist!_ ” Jake says, and he beams at Carlos. He's- well. He's not _unattractive._ Somehow, Carlos had thought the man would be breathtaking. But then, no one compares to Cecil, really. “ _Hi._ ”

“Carlos, this is Jake. My _personal assistant._ ” Marcus speaks with pride, and his chest puffs out.

“It's nice to meet you both.” Carlos puts out his hand to shake, and both of them stare at the proffered fingers with a matching expression of what appears to be distrust. Right. Bad idea. He disguises the action to pick a bag of nuts he _does not_ like off the side, and drops it amongst his groceries on the belt.

Jakes smiles again: Marcus' expression becomes more neutral. Carlos can't help but wonder how often he smiles.

Jake turns to Marcus, and the _devotion_ he puts on the other man is something astounding: Carlos is in awe of how _loving_ he looks in a single glance. And for his part, Marcus looks to Jake with such _warmth._

Carlos thinks on that as he pays for his stuff, moving back out towards the car.

Perhaps Cecil's fascination with personal assistants wasn't so bizarre after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely going to be longer and more of an exploration fic, so please tell me how I'm doing, but also feel free to send requests or ideas for particular kinks to my writing Tumblr, dictionarywrites. Clarify it's for ODINV, and I'll try and add it where possible!  
> Thanks for reading!


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